They were both sitting silently in the kitchen. Both were tired and exhausted. The house was cold and a little bit gloomy. He was staring at the laptop screen all sunk into political news and events. She was sitting on a chair doing something on the cell phone.

-Tea?

-Great, thanks.

She woke up from the chair, poured some water into the teapot and switched it on. She went back to her place and again fetched the cell phone.

He left the virtual realia and looked at her. She felt the glance and looked up from the phone screen. For a moment they stared at each other. Nothing was said. No smile, no words, no mimic. Just eyes, eyes full of words and sentences…

The teapot was making noise…The water was boiling inside…

They were both sitting silently in the kitchen… Both were relaxed… The house was warm and light…

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December has always been one of my favorite months as it is filled with snow, New Year preparations and Christmas mood.

This year I had an awesome opportunity to find myself in the city of Munich at the beginning of December, where Christmas was ruling all around. The city was all about Santa Clauses, misletoes, Christmas music, live Christmas carols in the streets, hot roasted almonds and chestnuts, potato pancakes, all kinds of chocolate, Gluwein, scented candles, Christmas tree and gingerbread man cookies and the famous Bavarian Pretzel.

From the bakeries you could smell the freshly baked breads and cakes, the coffee shops were inviting everyone for a hot cup of tea or coffee, every 10-15 meters a wide variety of sausages were offered to you.

In the center of the city a great Christmas market was open. The wooden cottages all dressed in Christmas outfits gifted the city with magic Christmas breath. This mood was spread all around, and it reached all peoples’ hearts. Looking at people’s positive faces and childish enthusiasm one could remember Dickens’s Scrooge who was unable to resist the Christmas magic.

Every hour the bells of the churches started to go. The echoes of their sounds were telling the people the magic tale of Christmas. I stole a tiny piece of this tale and will be keeping deep in my heart.

It was windy and cold outside, but everyone was out enjoying the little precious things. Gluwein and beer together with energetic chatting with friends did not let people be cold. From every corner of the streets you could hear laughter and singing voices. Rare snowfalls were making all this more real and more dreamlike.

What I really enjoyed in the streets were people all dressed in traditional Bavarian clothes. They looked like book characters in their colorful hats with feathers and medium sized pantaloons. These people were all proud of their appearance and were not against posing in front of the cameras of inquisitive tourists.

Each cottage of the Christmas market was representing one part of the Bavarian culture. Wooden curved Christmas tree decorations, porcelain angels and wax Jesus mangers, Bavarian flags and beer glasses, knitted hats and socks and so on and so forth.

Another present for people in Munich was an artist who was giving show every day and was declaring that it was his birthday. His name was often changing depending on the shop name he was standing beside. The showman was a poor man who “begged” money by playing guitar, singing and teasing all the nations. He was a man full of humor and was unbelievably flexible with his audience. He very well knew characteristics of each nation and knew how to make fun of them. When he learnt that we were from Armenia, he asked us to imagine that his guitar case was Ararat. He knew that by reminding us of the Mount Ararat he would make us much more generous. For Japanese the case transferred into Pearl Harbor, and he kindly asked them to bomb it with coins. The highlight of his show was when he gave 10 euros to a girl learning that she was from North Korea. In general he was an extremely talented guitar player and singer and had a good taste in music. Beatles and Rolling Stones were an integral part of his performance.

When I was a child, I was watching colorful movies representing Christmas celebrations in different countries, and I so much desired to be a part of all that. This year I was granted that chance, and don’t convince me that experiencing all that with your beloved has nothing to do with Christmas magic.

P.S. “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.” ― Charles Dickens

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That day she woke up with a strong wish to visit Granny, to ask her to prepare her favorite fried potatoes with chicken. It was Saturday, and she was glad she didn’t have to go to work. She could take her time and visit her favorite place, spend some relaxing hours under her favorite apricot trees, steal some strawberries far from Granny’s eyes and just enjoy Granny’s company.

On the way to Granny’s, she was recollecting all the years that had passed since she was a child, all the sweet and happy moments she had had in the Granny’s garden, all the jokes and arguments she had shared with her cousins, all the games she had played there. She was grateful she had such a wonderful childhood, felt family warmth and care.

Today she just wanted to glance over the old days and indulge herself with Granny’s crispy potatoes. It was not much, just some hours full of love and tasty food.

When the taxi stopped in front of the gates, she paid the driver and came out. She looked at the huge old mulberry and read No 51 on the wall next to the tree. She then noticed the heavy maroon curtains of the living room. From beneath the curtains she could see the tall bookshelf and her cousin’s desk. The TV was off; maybe her cousin was out. The door of the bedroom was open and she could see Granny, sitting in front of the icon praying. On her head one could see her delicate and a bit worn white kerchief. She was always wearing that while praying. When she lifted her hands, the sun threw shine on her golden wedding ring, which she had not taken out since Grandpa’s death. She then took out the kerchief and ordered her hair with her usual gesture…

Some noises could be heard from the kitchen. Maybe her aunt had already washed some strawberries and was cleaning potatoes for frying. “Hey, the mint juice is waiting for me”, she thought, feeling the caressing smell of mint.

She spent some more minutes in front of the Granny’s gates and then walked away slowly, leaving behind her the high modern building that was once her Granny’s place…

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Tired of the city hustle and bustle she takes her steps towards her favorite park. It is one of those corners that lets her feel isolated from the city life, the dusty streets, the traffic horns and gloomy glances of the people. She sits on one of the benches next to the artificial waterfall and starts to listen to the nature. The birds are energetically discussing something. What are they singing about? Maybe they are singing of the beauty of the day…or maybe they are not singing but arguing…Do the birds argue? Do they have problems? Do they feel sad? Do they get angry with their family and friends? Maybe they do…Who knows?…Maybe their song is not as joyous as it sounds to us…Song is always beautiful…no matter whether it tells about joy or sorrow…

She too loves singing…it is one of the best ways to express all the emotions…She knows two ways of singing…with vocal cords and with hands…The only difference between these two ways is that when she writes, she never knows what the melody is going to be like. She hears the song only after having created it…

She hears human voices and immediately returns to reality…It’s already 2PM..time to go back to work…She leaves the bench and walks to work…On the way to work she meets people, some of them gloomy…some of them pushing the car horn buttons…some of them arguing and swearing…she does not criticize them….all of them have their own songs…by the way…do the birds criticize each other?…who knows?…maybe they do…

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“Why did they bring me here? Why? I felt so much better at home. I was lying in my tiny warm box feeling safe and protected. And oh, so happy was I when little Sophie took me out secretly and played with me with her sugary hands. I so much adored her tiny soft girly fingers. And how cared and loved I felt during the cotton bath that always followed Sophie’s playing. And here? I do not care an ounce about these admiring glances, I do not need the owner’s praises concerning my look and my value, which he always calls ITS PRICE. I don’t care about it! I feel so priceless here. Sitting here all day, surrounded by all kinds of jewelry just drives me mad! Of course, I admire the Welsh medallion, the Dutch lustrous earrings and the Australian pearl necklace. But they will never make me home, they will never replace Sophie’s loving smile and subtle hands. I want back home, I want Sophie’s rotund hands”– thought the aged ring, looking out of the vintage jewelry store’s window.

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My special thanks to George and Konstantin for taking me to this incredible world :)

I’ve had a three-hour adventure at the miraculous land called Vernisaj today. Vernisaj is a bazaar in the center of our city. Every weekend sellers from all the parts of the country come to this place to sell EVERYTHING that can be BOUGHT! These, as a rule, are ancient handmade carpets, bags, paintings, ceramic pots and vases, books, animals, tools (from medical to mechanic), clothes, accessories, jewelry, national souvenirs and so on and so forth. Thus, if you have no plans on your weekend, Vernisaj is the right place to visit.

The sellers of Vernisaj made a deep impression on me! The prodigious ambition of selling their goods gifts them with a divine ability of speaking any language that is needed. I am serious! Just try to look at something, and you are sentenced to acquire all the information referring to that definite product in several languages. Each buyer is individually approached. By saying individually, I mean INDIVIDUALLY! The same product can change its aim, price, age and features from language to language and from customer to customer.

The buyers of Vernisaj seem very patriotic judging from the goods they sell. However, their patriotism disappears the moment they see a TOURIST. I really don’t want to sound too sarcastic and rude, but they HUNT for the tourists. Their mood, their attitude, the expression of their eyes and even their posture changes when a tourist approaches their territory. They torture the poor foreigner by demonstrating every single item at the store. Sometimes, the only salvation from the remorseless sellers is buying something.

Some sellers happen to be more shifty than the others. They organize tiny shows for the customers. One such entertainer was a man demonstrating the unbelievable features of a glass cutting tool. This reminded me of an American TV SHOP (that sells knives called Miracle Blade), when you can’t help admiring the incredibility of the product you are NEVER going to buy.

Another funny and enjoyable thing about this piece of Heaven called Vernisaj is the bargaining process. There is an unwritten law to “ALWAYS BARGAIN! THE POSSIBILITY THAT YOU’LL SUCCEED IS RATHER BIG!” The prices in Vernisaj are very flexible. You just need to follow some rules to make a good purchase:

When you like something, don’t show your admiration immediately. This reduces your chances of buying it at a low price.

After knowing the price, make a surprised face. This is always relevant, as the first price is always high. The seller will immediately tell you the second price.

Offer him your price; do not forget to stay adequate :)

He will disagree and will tell you the third price, which, as a rule, will not differ much from the one you offered and will suit you.

The product is yours ;-)

If you are not planning to buy more products from that store, be quick to leave the place, once you get your purchase. Otherwise, you will be forced to learn what ELSE you could buy from the store.

As a lucky non-tourist I was able to stay in the shadow during my walk. It gave me the possibility to look around, enjoy the funny situations I witnessed, overhear the conversations of others and feel the colors and energy of my homeland.

P.S. I really liked this tiny land called Vernisaj and I really admired the energetic and ambitious “polyglots”. I wish them good luck in their business and I wish our Government provided better conditions for these people to work in.

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I am twenty – one! Doesn’t it sound great? It really does to me! They say it is the best age one experiences! This is the age when you are not that old and already not a child! This is the age to act.

This is the age I act! I am twenty-one! While conceiving this I feel like doing everything: these words charge me with energy! I am twenty-one: there is no time to relax, no time to get bored, to frown, to get disappointed, to hesitate, to retire.

I am twenty -one! This is my time to live! This is my time to make steps, to get into the world, to claim my points, to establish my place on the Earth.

I am twenty-one! I am happy when the weather is gloomy and even happier when it’s sunny! I am twenty-one! I can sleep only two hours a night and be full of energy for the whole day! I can eat ice-cream in winter and wear a scarf in summer. I am twenty-one, and the time is never enough for me! I am twenty-one. I can choose a profession and change it the next day!

I am twenty-one! I like studying at the University, but feel humiliated when I am notified about my home tasks. That’s Ok! I am twenty-one!

I am twenty-one! I am a bright example of a new generation. I hardly come to an agreement with my parents but am always eager to claim them MY points! I protect my generation and criticize the elders! I have that right! I am twenty-one! I like announcing about my being an ADULT! This is the word I never fail to forget. I am twenty-one! I am so fond of being an adult!

Above being an adult I love the fact of my independence! This is the subject over which I can argue with everyone! I can talk about it for hours without a single sign of withdrawal! I am twenty-one! Protecting my independence is a must!

I am twenty-one! This is my time to see and experience everything, my time to travel, to get acquainted with the world.

I am twenty-one. I like discussing politics, economics, psychology and other spheres I am actually unaware of. I like spicing my speech with terms like “modernization” and “globalization” and thus feel wiser.

Indeed, I feel strong and wise! I get furious when called a child at home, University or at the workplace! I am not! I am already twenty-one!

I am twenty-one. I like being called “lady” instead of “girl”, “Madame” instead of “petite”, “Signorina” instead of “tipa” and “sweetheart” instead of “hey you”!

I am twenty-one! My mind is full of rolling thoughts and my heart is full of love!